


Prickly Like a Porcupine

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Happy, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:23:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Let's pretend Quentin and Eliot are allowed to be happy.





	Prickly Like a Porcupine

Eliot opens his eyes to find Quentin staring at him. His eyes are soft, and one of his hands is running through Eliot’s hair, twirling his curls. He smiles as he realizes Eliot’s woken up. “Morning.” 

Eliot nods sleepily, curling in closer and humming, "Morning. Were you watching me sleep?”

Quentin shakes his head, “No, I woke up a few minutes ago.” He twists a curl around his finger and gently tugs at it. “Was gonna go make some breakfast. But your hair is so . . .”

“Wrecked?” Eliot says with a smile, “Mm, yeah. Sex fests tend to do that.”  
Rolling his eyes, Quentin tugs gently at the hair again. “No,” he says, “I like it when it’s wild.” Eliot’s eyebrow perks, but Quentin barrels on. “It’s like you. Crazy and beautiful and -,”

“Oh god,” Eliot laughs, rolling them over so he’s hovering over Quentin, “Enough of the cheese, Q,” He murmurs, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw, “It’s too early for you to be all mushy and lame.” He trails light kisses down the side of Quentins jaw, fluttering along his skin, as his hands work up his waist, feather light. 

Quentin eyes fall closed, as a small content smile forms on his lips, "You can pretend you don't like the cheese, but I know you do." 

Eliot smirks against his skin, "Is that so?" He breathes. He pulls away, rests all his weight on his elbows as he gazes down at Quentin. Quentin nods up at him, opening his eyes. "And what makes you so well versed in what I like?" 

Quentin looks thoughtful a moment before Eliots world tips upside down and he's starting up at him, slightly breathless. Soft, warm hands press up against his sides as Quentin adjusts himself so he's straddling Eliots waist, staring down at him. He smirks, hair falling down over his cheek. "I like to think I'm an expert in what Eliot Waugh likes at this point," He says. His hands skirt up and over Eliots sides, too light to tickle, but just enough pressure to spread goosebumps over Eliots body. His hands trail over the light spotting of hair on Eliots stomach, up through the thicker hair of his chest, over his collarbones, to settle on the bit of bed between Eliots shoulders and neck. 

Eliot narrows his eyes up at him, his own hands moving up to rest on Quentins hips. "Little Q," he chastises, squeezing his hips, "I do believe you're evading the question." 

"Me? Evading?" Quentin shakes his head, pitching forward to bury his face in the crook of Eliots neck, breath hot and heavy on Eliots throat. His next words come muffled, and tickle at the hairs on the back of Eliots neck, "I just want to cuddle with my boyfriend. Is that a crime.? 

Swallowing, Eliots hands slide up to the smell of Quentins back, he says small, but nearly every bit of Quentins is small. He's short and annoyingly adorable. "Boyfriend, huh?" He asks, "Wasn't aware we were doing labels." 

Quentin tenses, and Eliot realizes too late he may have made a mistake, as he pushes himself up. His eyes are wide like, like he's the one who's fucked up and he breathes in deep, careful breathes. "I - shit, El. I - I thought -," 

"Stop freaking out," Eliot mutters with a roll of his eyes, pulling him back down so he's lying flat on Eliots chest, arms tucked beneath him. Quentins elbows dig into his stomach, sharp and unyielding. "We're boyfriends, Q. You don't need to panic about every little thing you little weirdo." He can practically feel the frown etched on Quentins face burning into his chest, so he adds, "Honestly, Q. Stop freaking out." When Quentin doesn't move, he sighs. "God, Q. You can wax poetic about my hair if it's such a big deal." 

Quentin swallows, lifts his head just enough that his chin digs into Eliots collarbone, peeking up though his hair and eyelashes, "Just your hair?" He asks, a small pout on his lips. 

Eliot deflates, "Jesus, fine. Be mushy and gross. Whatever." A slow grin forms along Quentins lips, and then he sits up straight, hands sliding up to rest on Eliots chest. He smiles down at him, triumphant and obnoxious and Eliot glares, jokingly. "You planned that whole thing!" He accuses, pinching at Quentins hips. 

"Not the whole thing," Quentin sings, leaning forward, all his weight resting on his hands, pressing down onto Eliots chest, heavy and warm and somehow soothing. Eliot takes in a deep breath as Quentins bangs brush against his chin, a slight tickle, "But it's like I said. I'm an expert in all things Eliot Waugh." His grin brushes up against Eliots cheek, before moving forward, grazing his lips against Eliots in a teasing ploy. 

"I don't think that's what you said." 

Quentin pulls away, tilting his head, "Hm," One of his hands slides upwards, a steady weight traveling up Eliots body until it falls to the bed beside his head and Quentin lowers himself onto his elbow, his body pressing up fiery hot against Eliots torso, legs winding up in Eliots. "Maybe not. But I should have." 

"God, do you do anything other than read trashy romance novels?"

He nods. "Yep. I read trashy fantasy novels." 

A laugh bubbles out of Eliots chest, boiling over and bouncing around the room as his arms wrap around Quentins back, holding him to him. "You are such a loser," he murmurs into Quentins jaw, pressing small pecks against the skin there in between each word. 

Quentins left hand comes up to curl around Eliots shoulder. "Yeah, but you still-," 

"Love you?" Eliot supplies, "Yeah, I suppose I do." Quentin tenses up, but Eliot unwinds one arm and slaps his ass once, quick and painless, "What'd we say about freaking out, Q?" 

Quentin huffs a flash of air, before nuzzling into Eliots neck. His eyelashes flutter as he rolls his eyes, "M'not freaking out," he breathes, "Just expected I'd have to say it first." 

Eliots not stupid, but he is petty. "Say what?" He asks, mock innocence, goading. 

"I love you." 

"Ah. Yeah," His hand comes up, weaves into Quentins hair, "Sorry, Q. Sadly, you said it second. So my love for you is stronger." Quentin attempts to pull away, but Eliot holds him to him, "I don't make the rules. I just enforce them." 

"I hate you," Quentin mumbles, voice muffled and holding no heat. 

Eliot chuckles, "Not even in your wildest dreams. I'm just too damn loveable." 

"Like a porcupine." 

"Have you ever actually heard the sounds a porcupine makes? They're adorable."

"Shut up, Eliot." 

"Honestly, Q. They might be your spirit animal -," 

"Eliot." 

"Because they're so damn adorable." 

Quentin frowns, leaning his head forward and biting gently at the skin of Eliots neck. "You're the worst." 

"Yeah," Eliot sighs, leaning into the bite, as Quentin sucks on the skin, tongue moving over it to soothe the light sting. "But you love me."


End file.
